


Aim Straight

by Eustacia Vye (eustaciavye)



Series: Ready For The Siege [14]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Implied/Referenced Torture, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss, Mindfuck, Red Room, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-17
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-01 20:32:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2786750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eustaciavye/pseuds/Eustacia%20Vye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The Red Room has returned.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Knife Edge

Ekaterina Sarkissian had lived in Moscow until her fourteenth birthday. Her parents had died when she was seven in a train accident, so she lived with her cousin Ophelia as well as her aunt, uncle and grandfather in one tiny flat. The cousins had looked alike, more like sisters than cousins, with the same long, straight dark hair, green eyes and flawlessly pale skin. Both had excelled at school, which had made the older Sarkissians proud.

The summer before Ekaterina turned fourteen, her aunt had caught Ophelia kissing the neighbor girl, her hand sliding up beneath her shirt. Ekaterina had thought the two of them were cute together, but it had been a shock for her aunt, who had hoped that Ophelia would marry her friend's son. Ekaterina had known for some time that Ophelia was gay and loved her anyway. Her aunt couldn't deal with the potential shame it would bring them, and urged her uncle to look into moving away. They went to Romania first, then Austria. Ophelia gamely tried to date boys and had even slept with one to make her mother happy, but she felt nothing for them and happily handed them off to Ekaterina to date.

The cousins had always been more like sisters, so it wasn't a surprise that they get involved in similar organizations during their college years. Ophelia rose quickly through Hydra's ranks, while Ekaterina switched to help run AIM as it got off the ground. They loved Vienna, and Ekaterina soon developed a love for Marseilles, which was where her offices were based. She and Ophelia talked frequently, meshing their interests together even if the organizations remained separate. They knew everything about the other's movements, at least until Ophelia disappeared from Vienna. 

It was upsetting; the Austrian government wouldn't tell her anything about how Ophelia died or what the investigation was finding. All they were telling her was that Ophelia was dead, and when Ekaterina asked about Yelena, authorities would only tell her that the woman was missing and a person of interest. Did they really think Yelena could have harmed Ophelia? The woman was a lingerie model, for God's sake. She gave it up to be with Ophelia, and they had been together for six years. While it was something of an open relationship, Yelena had never sought any other girlfriends or even boyfriends. Ophelia was the one that wanted to dabble with Emilia on the side, but Yelena was her love. They were married in all but name, which had suited Ophelia just fine. Yelena had never pressed for marriage or any of the gifts that Ophelia heaped upon her head, and had seemed like such a vapid blonde on the occasions that Ekaterina had met her. Running the vibranium mine had been Ophelia's idea to keep the woman busy, but Ekaterina had no doubts that it was really the managers that kept the mine afloat. No, Yelena couldn't have possibly harmed Ophelia. It was more likely that someone had broken into the house, killed Ophelia and abducted Yelena.

She sighed and gave in to the urge to rest her head on her desk. She was _tired,_ and balancing the different divisions of AIM while keeping legitimate appearances were rather trying. AIM's expanded R &D division was still tangentially working with Project Centipede, and had major developments with their nanobot technology. 

Ekaterina must have dozed off for a time. She was startled by a hand at her shoulder, and jerked awake, twisting to the side. A familiar voice chuckling stopped her from bodily throwing herself across the room. Her boyfriend Tomas had come in to check on her, and perched on the edge of her chair. He was tall and slender, with a runner's physique, olive skin, curly dark hair and kind dark eyes. It had been sheer accident that led to their meeting, as she normally didn't spend time in the R&D labs. Generally, she only read reports. During a tour of a new facility, one of the experimental engines being tested had overheated. Tomas had thrown her to the ground, covering her body with his. "So," he had said that day with a reckless grin and a twinkle in his eyes, "the engine needs work, obviously."

She had been charmed, and had started meeting for dates. It was a much slower courtship than she had been used to, but very pleasant. They did more than just dinner and movies or plays, and he actually wanted to get to know her. It wasn't just a ploy to lead to sex, but genuine interest; her prior boyfriends had seemed more interested in a physical relationship only.

"Katya," he chided gently. "You work too hard."

"Oh, Tomas," she sighed, nodding. "But there's so much to do before the final report for the quarter is due, and a handful of tours to make."

He chuckled, rising from his perch on her chair. That fateful tour had been almost two years ago, and aside from their meeting, had been an unmitigated disaster. "I suppose I shouldn't keep you, then," he replied playfully. "You can finish your report..."

"Don't you dare," she said with a grin, grasping his arm. "I can write reports anytime. You've been buried in your lab for weeks..."

"Deadlines," he reminded her with a smile, letting his fingers trail over the curve of her jaw.

"You can stay for a bit, can't you?"

"It's why I'm here."

Tomas stood behind her, fingers sliding across her arm suggestively. He gave her a shoulder massage, kneading the tight muscles. "It's so hard being the CEO of a successful research company," he teased.

"It is!" she huffed. "We have to produce something viable on the quarterly report for the investors. Another bad quarter and the market share will drop, funding dries up, and then bright minds like yours go elsewhere..."

Digging further into the tight muscles, Tomas kissed the top of her head. "Katya, I'm not leaving you, okay? Why would I leave? I have everything I want right here."

"Charmer."

"I tell you the truth," Tomas protested with a grin.

Ekaterina half turned in her seat, a smile on her face, intended to tease him. Tomas leaned in and kissed her, mouth open and tongue sweeping across her lips. She brought her hand up to cup his cheek, deepening the kiss. She followed his lead when he drew her to her feet. "I could use a break," she said against his mouth, smiling.

Kissing and groping each other, they headed to the bedroom from her home office. They shed their clothes quickly, and Tomas rummaged in her bedside drawer for a condom. He left it in easy reach, then got on the bed beside Ekaterina. His hands were everywhere, caressing her body reverently. Ekaterina's touch was rougher, more insistent and demanding. When she was ready for him, she pushed him onto his back and grabbed the foil packet. She rolled it onto his cock and sank down over him. Tomas grinned up at her when she sighed contentedly, palming her breasts. That let him stroke them and give her a little more balance as she rode him hard and fast, her own hands braced on his thighs behind her.

She draped herself over him afterward, enjoying the feel of him beneath her. it only lasted a minute or two before she had to roll off so Tomas could take the condom off his softening cock and dispose of it. He cuddled her close, and she actually started dozing off until they heard the loud and obnoxiously insistent sound of his cell phone.

"Don't answer it," she groaned, curling further into his warmth.

"It might be the lab. We were working on a new project..."

She covered her face with her hands and groaned as he got up to check his phone. He sighed after seeing the number. "I've got to take this," he said apologetically.

Apparently power surges had ruined some of the equipment in the lab, and he would have to go through it to see if he could salvage some of it. Ekaterina knew it was necessary, but that didn't mean she had to like it. "Come back when you're done saving the lab," Ekaterina said, stretching and arching her back to put her breasts on full display. Tomas was as entranced as she wanted him to be, and he gave her a last lingering kiss before leaving.

Ekaterina dozed off for a bit, then sat up abruptly when a noise woke her. It wasn't a crash, exactly, but more like a dull thudding sound. Something falling over in her office, perhaps. A quick glance at her clock told her that she had slept for maybe twenty minutes at most. After scrubbing at her eyes, she rose and put on her silk bathrobe. If Tomas was returning, there wasn't much point in getting dressed again. She had high hopes for the rest of her evening.

Except...

Her computer was moved on her desk, various file folders were missing from her desk, including the financials she had been looking at to make her report. "What the hell?"

A sharp blow behind her knees made her collapse to the floor. She fell with a thud, striking her head on the side of her desk. Her vision swam, and eventually refocused as a redheaded woman tied one wrist to her desk and her two ankles together. The woman caught her free wrist in a crushing grip, her expression so eerily blank that it scared Ekaterina more than if it had been lit up with glee. She looked vaguely familiar, and it took Ekaterina a moment to place it.

"You're the Turpin woman. You escaped my guards in Andorra a year and a half ago."

Now the woman smiled, a fearsome thing that made Ekaterina's blood run cold. "Oh, Katya," the woman sneered, using the diminutive without her consent. "You've been a naughty, naughty girl while I've been away." She was dressed in all black, a skintight cat suit that moved with her fluidly. She had a belt slung low around her waist with pouches, as well as thigh holsters for two Glocks, extra magazines and several knives. One of them was in her hand, pointed right below Ekaterina's left eye. "You thought you could get away with it, too."

"What do you want?"

"Did those girls ever know what you were after? Did the boys get a chance to say no?"

The blood drained from Ekaterina's face. "Who are you?" she breathed.

"Your mages are gone, you know. They're dead. They can't save you now." Her eyes were hard and angry. "But then, you're also out of the blood of children, aren't you?"

_"Who are you?"_

Her teeth looked as sharp as knives. "I'm the Black Widow."

There was no use screaming. The walls of her home were soundproofed and fortified against bullets, impacts up to a military tank striking the walls, and magic assaults. It would prevent others from coming in, but couldn't prevent this woman from doing whatever it was she wanted to do while inside.

"How did you get in?"

"There has yet to be a room I can't get into." The tip of the blade rested against Ekaterina's left cheekbone. "But now, I propose a game." There was no joy in her eyes, no emotion at all. The closest thing to emotion had been anger when she mentioned the dead children. "Don't you want to hear the rules?" she prodded when Ekaterina remained silent.

"Did you kill Ophelia?" Ekaterina asked instead.

The knife dragged down her cheek, from cheekbone to jaw. The Black Widow didn't even move otherwise as Ekaterina gasped in pain. "Don't you want to hear the rules?"

She was going to die. The Black Widow would never let her live if this was a contract. "Who hired you? I can pay you whatever you like. Double, triple..."

A parallel line was etched into her cheek, this time deeper. The Widow looked as though she barely expended any energy at all. Ekaterina cried out as her cheek stung. _"What do you want?"_ Ekaterina cried desperately.

"You almost killed me, you know," the Widow said conversationally. The knife's edge moved to Ekaterina's throat. "You were looking for information I didn't even have at the time. That's all right, though. We're going to fix that mistake." Now there was a deadly glint in her eye. "You're going to tell me what I want to know. And perhaps, I won't make it as painful as you would have for me. How does that sound?"

"You're insane."

The knife skipped along her collarbone. "No. I know what that looks like, I assure you, and I am very far away from that."

"I can give you anything," Ekaterina promised. "I have a powerful organization behind me, and I'm in the running to take over Hydra now. Whatever you want..."

The knife dug into her skin until it met her collarbone. Ekaterina screamed and tried to jerk away, but that only led the Black Widow to crush the delicate bones of her hand in her grip. One line, then two into her skin, then across the parallel lines. Up came the skin flap, exposing the bone there. Ekaterina sobbed and looked at the Black Widow's impassive expression. "What do you want? What can I give you?"

"Information."

Whenever Ekaterina paused, or tried to evade her questions, the Black Widow took her knife and scratched at the exposed bone. The blood stained the robe completely, and Ekaterina didn't even notice when a rib or two were exposed in the same way as her collarbones. She was too busy sobbing to feel the tendons being severed in her left wrist; those hand bones felt crushed already anyway, and she wasn't trying to move the fingers. She told the Black Widow whatever sounded important, throwing everyone under the bus that she could think of. "I just do finances," she tried to insist. "I crunch the numbers, that's it."

 _"Liar,"_ the Widow hissed, eyes flashing in anger.

Ekaterina was dizzy, and tried to bring her hand to her head. Her right was still tied, and her left was a mangled mess. She screeched, hyperventilating and trying to skitter backward away from the Black Widow. "I told you everything I know!" she wailed.

"No, you haven't," the Widow intoned, her face an expressionless mask. Her death would mean nothing at all, Ekaterina realized. The Widow would feel absolutely nothing, there would be no regret, and Ekaterina would still be dead.

The only question was how much pain would she be in before she died.

Over the next three hours, Ekaterina wracked her brain to give the Black Widow whatever information she could. Before, it had been actual but relatively innocuous information and blame shifting to other AIM personnel. Now she told the Widow about AIM's different research projects, what the mages were needed for, where and why they used the children, the sister agencies' projects that dovetailed with her pet projects, weaponization attempts, the creation of "miracles," how they determine enemy targets to eliminate.

When Tomas returned, Ekaterina's office was a grisly bloodbath, her tortured body lying with limbs splayed at awkward angles. The stench was horrific, and Ekaterina stared at Tomas with empty eye sockets and jaws wrenched open farther than what was humanly possible. He was sick in the hallway, his entire body shaking. It was with great difficulty that he called the authorities to investigate, but he didn't think they would be able to find her killer.

Splashed across the wall in Ekaterina's blood were five chilling words.

_The Red Room has returned._

***

Natasha returned to her hotel room and was surprised to find that Yelena wasn't present. "She's looking into our next target," James told her. He was sitting at attention in the chair beside the bed, gun in hand. He lounged a little as her gaze traveled over his body. "I take it you've had a successful mission?"

"Ekaterina Sarkissian is very, very dead. And she so thoughtfully told me everything she knew before she died."

James grinned at her even tone of voice and beckoned her to come closer. "Revenge feels good, doesn't it, Natalia?"

She approached and straddled his waist. He caught her wrist before she could grasp one of his knives. "Perhaps I wanted to know what she does. Prevent her from killing projects."

"Mmm," James murmured noncommittally. He trailed his fingers down her spine. "And do you? Know everything?" he asked slowly. His voice was more like a throaty, sensual purr.

"Everything worth knowing, at any rate," Natasha told him, her lips quirking into a smile. She stood and walked over to the desk, leaning against it for balance to kick off her boots. "As well as the next target, if we can all get to California undetected. Are you jealous you couldn't go out into the field?"

"Oh, I'll be out in the field soon enough," James drawled. "And I'm not jealous. Just eager to show you how much I appreciate you."

Natasha lofted an eyebrow. "And how do you propose to do that?"

Fluidly, James was up and out of the seat, across the room and grasping Natasha in his arms. Her back slammed into the wall hard, but she pushed back so that she could twist and slam him into the wall instead. The tacky painting on the wall fell off. They both ignored it, instead grasping and caressing each other through clothes. It was truly like being back in the Red Room once a mission was finished. There wasn't enough time, never enough time, they would have to report back to their handlers and pretend nothing was going on. But in the meantime, a few sweet hours of stolen oblivion, the ability to pretend that love was real and not simply imagined. Whatever ability to love that they possessed, they had for each other.

James' shirt ripped a little as Natasha yanked it off and tossed it aside. James helped her out of the boots and leather cat suit, and their trajectories knocked over a lamp beside the bed. Her bra and panties were tossed in different directions, and the remainder of James' clothing and boots were scattered along their way to the bed. That didn't matter at this moment. All that mattered was James' mouth on her neck then breast, her hand grasping his cock, and the slide of skin on skin or metal. He pushed her down to the bed, then sank to his knees to bring his mouth between her legs. Natasha stifled her cry with a fist pressed against her mouth.

"No," James said, leaning back a little. "Their spies don't exist any longer. They can't punish us for this now. Let me hear you as I never could before."

Natasha took her hand away and reached down for him. When James settled back between her thighs, she laced her fingers through his soft hair and arched up, moaning as his tongue slid between her folds. Her other hand grasped her breast, palming it and adding to the sensations flooding her. James dragged a throaty groan from her when he added his fingers—flesh only, as he never used the metal hand inside her body, not wanting even the remote risk of harm. He would grab her hips or touch her skin, but it was only his flesh and blood fingers that ever slid inside her slick passage.

When she came, James ignored her insistent tugging at his hair. He turned her over to rest on hands and knees on the bed. Natasha had to grasp the bed sheets, already rumpled and partly pulled off of the bed, and she turned her head to the side to breathe and try to look over her shoulder at James. She panted his name, gasping and moaning as he brought his mouth down to her from behind. At first his tongue delved into her slit, licking into her. Natasha's breath quickened, and she let out a soft mewl as he moved up to lick at her rear entrance. "James," she moaned, a fine tremor running through her. She could feel him smile against her ass, the smug bastard, but moaned and jerked beneath his mouth.

James licked at her lazily, his hands on her hips to keep her from pushing back against him or turning over to lie on her back again. It was a slow tease, until Natasha was panting and cursing at him in Russian to get on with it already, she wanted him so badly and needed his cock inside her _now._ He started slow, leaning low over her body, entering her from behind while kissing the back of her neck. "Natalia," he murmured, moving slowly to draw out the sensation for her. He growled when she clenched her inner muscles around his cock. _"Natasha."_

Natasha moaned, her eyes falling shut. _I love you,_ she wanted to say. He might not accept the words, but it didn't make the emotion any less real. _I love you, James Buchanan Barnes. My Winter Soldier._ I love you.

As if he was reading her mind, his growls seemed to resolve into words. _I love you,_ he said in Russian against her spine, lips and teeth grazing her skin. She shivered beneath him, crying out and pulling at the sheets. She called his name as if it was a prayer, begging for more, needing more. They had so much time to make up, so much that had gone unsaid that now they could say. No more watchers, no need to second guess their involvement. No need to wash away his come guiltily, no need to hide her feelings.

They lay among the twisted sheets afterward, sweaty-sticky-sated, grinning at each other like lovesick teenagers. She had been sixteen when she kissed him, just to see if she could, because he didn't force advances upon her, because he was unfailingly fair and committed to the mission, because he never once made her feel less than whole. _I choose you,_ she had said before kissing him, moving slowly and clearly telegraphing her intentions. He could have moved away, but he hadn't. He watched her carefully, gaze shuttered until she faltered, bravado gone and her soul stripped bare for him to see. _Am I that awful?_ she had asked, able to keep from shaking in shame. _Madame says I learned my lessons well._ She wasn't about to mention Starkovsky and his lecherous gaze, roaming hands and sickening innuendoes. _Am I doing something wrong?_

He had been sure she was a test of his loyalty, his resolve to do Department X's work. _I choose you,_ she'd had to repeat. _This is what_ I _want, not them. They... they don't know this. How I feel. What I want._ She had faltered again under his heavy gaze. _What I think I want. I... I don't know. They took things, didn't they?_

Only then did he reach out and caress her cheek gently. _Always,_ he had murmured.

Years later, with SHIELD's help, she worked out that she had to have been around fourteen when the memory modification and personality overlays began. She had already been training with the Winter Soldier for at least a year or so at that time, had already been running missions after entering the Elites of the Red Room. Natasha had already been a deadly force to be reckoned with, and the Winter Soldier had tempered her ability further. Never once had he made untoward advances, and even after her overture hadn't leapt at the chance.

 _You're a good man,_ she had told him, admiration shining in her eyes.

 _Not really,_ he had replied. _Look at what we do. Look at who we are._

 _But you aren't like_ them, she had insisted. _You're better than they are. You're more than your programming. Do you—_ Natasha had gulped nervously. _Do you think that maybe I could be, too?_

But the Winter Soldier had smiled at her warmly, human fingers sliding down her shoulder, along her arm. _You already are._

In the present day, Natasha ran her fingers over his stubbled cheeks, into his hair, along his bare shoulder. "I remember you," she said softly. "I've always remembered you. When I thought... I killed one of the few things that made life bearable there. There was nothing left worth fighting for if you were gone."

"Natasha," he murmured, running his flesh fingers along her jaw.

"Stupid, I know. Everything changes. Nothing does." She gave him a soft smile. "But you're here, you're alive. You're everything I remember."

"I wasn't this man when you weren't around, Natasha," he warned her.

She laughed softly. "Do you think my commenting on your being a good man means that I think you're an innocent? You're even less innocent than I am, and we both know I was never really a child." She let her fingers trail across his chest. "I mean... You didn't let them erase the man underneath it all. For all that they tried to destroy you, they couldn't. While you weren't the Bucky that Steve remembers, you weren't a soulless monster. The Winter Soldier, for all that he was never supposed to be a person, still was capable of more kindness and humanity than any of our handlers at the Red Room."

James let out a sighing breath. "But for a long time, I couldn't be that."

"But the capacity for it was there."

"Something about you touched what was left of my humanity, buried under all that programming," James told Natasha in a soft voice.

Her lips curled into a trembling smile. "I built up my humanity after I destroyed the Red Room. I think I'm losing it. I think I'm falling back into old habits. The lives they gave me are easier to remember now. It's harder to remember why my life as a SHIELD agent mattered so much."

"You're not a SHIELD agent any longer, so it doesn't matter."

But it should have. It should have mattered. She still had her ledger; that belonged to _her,_ not to SHIELD, not the Red Room, nobody else but _her._ She had worked so hard to get her autonomy, and she could feel it slipping away at the edges.

Natasha pulled up a corner of the sheet to cover herself and burrowed into the pillows. As cheap as the motel room was, it was still comfortable enough to stay in for a while. He let her sleep and watched over her. In her dreams, she was part of the Bolshoi, feet wrapped in ballet slippers, the leotard as tight as a second skin. Natasya danced, fluid grace and endless elegance, gathering glory for her parents and her country. She had a fiancé, Alexei Shostokov, who was highly placed in the military and able to bypass the lists for a suitable apartment. They didn't have to wait years for simple luxuries like a second bathroom, a window box garden, windows large enough to constantly have natural sunlight streaming in. Alexei loved her, and was willing to wait until she was ready to limit her hours or retire from the Bolshoi. He had friends that she met with on occasion; Alexei was important, his position full of secrets and terrible responsibility. So he sometimes was away, and his friends were left to squire her about.

And if she was able to glean a few of those secrets along the way, so be it. That sort of thing happened amongst friends and lovers all the time.

Or maybe she was Tatiana, a real estate agent working out of Estonia, hoping to move to Germany someday. She had access to financial records, addresses, friends of friends of very important businessmen and women. Some of them had very powerful enemies, willing to do just about anything to get ahead. Gleaning information that would serve as the building blocks of political conspiracies was a common exercise; no one ever thought twice about the young woman in a business suit that stayed in the background, content to speak as little as possible and listen to the things people said when they thought they were alone.

Nancy was a teacher, enamored of the elementary school where she worked, as well as the brunet young man that taught in the high school. She took her tea with honey at the local coffee shop, her usual table right next to a man that was a bookkeeper for the Vory. Oh, he never admitted to that, but the truth was inescapable. One by one, his severed fingers went into a little pile, and he broke before his last finger was gone. Nancy smiled amiably, all sugary sweet, eyes a little bit distant as she worked. Cigar cutters worked in the movies, but she liked the old fashioned way the best. Garrote wire, cleavers, paring knives and a hammer were all wonderful tools, especially in the hands of a skilled professional.

James woke her; she startled, flipping across the bed and sinking into a crouch, hands searching for a gun beneath the bed that wasn't there. _Loki got in, how did he get in, is he going to burn me again? What if he really puts his mind to killing me?_

The world settled in pieces at a time, sharp, glittering fragments that grated and slid around in her mind uncomfortably. She saw James sitting on the bed, knife in hand. "The phone rang," he announced carefully. His hands were loose around the knife, and he finally put it down on the bed. "Natalia. Natasha. _Natashenko._ " His lips quirked into a smile, his voice no longer as condescending on the babyish nickname. He was the only one that would do such a thing; Natasha was too childlike a name for the degree of deadly accuracy she had, and supervisors all called her Cadet or Miss Romanoff. Curious.

Asking who he was would be a disingenuous question and break his heart. "It's a jumble," she said finally. "Everyone got shook loose."

"Your programming is breaking down. We'll find another way."

She wanted to ask him if they had a child, a daughter, with hair as red as hers, his charming smile and bright eyes. She wanted to ask if they really vacationed in Paris, strolling in the rain, hand in hand and not caring who saw them. She wanted to know if it was real, or if any of it had been manufactured by the Red Room; how else could they reward and ultimately punish their agents, than to give the illusion of happiness and then so cruelly yank it away?

But she asked none of those things. She was too afraid of his answers.

When he held out a hand to her, she took it. He didn't remark on her hesitation, and drew her in slowly. Her breath was shaky but his embrace was warm and familiar, comforting her more than words ever could. Perhaps that had happened before. His heartbeat was steady against her ear, and some of the loose memories from the dream settled into place.

She was Natasha Romanoff, former Red Room assassin, possibly former SHIELD agent. Her skill set had sent her all over the world and even to Asgard. She did the jobs that no one else wanted or could do. She sacrificed everything on a regular basis, constantly trying to bring her life's accounting into balance. There was more to her than death and destruction, more than simply following orders to make the kill.

And she loved James more than anyone else in the world. Her friends were like a family to her, Yelena was friend, lover and competitor all at once. Loki was probably going out of his mind with worry, trying to track her down, annoying the everloving shit out of everyone else at Avengers Tower. He had nowhere else to go now, no one else willing to put up with him or even try to understand him. He could be falling apart without her; he loved her the way she loved James, she was sure of it.

"It's my past lives," she murmured. "I remember them, the women I used to be, the ones I never really was. It gets... crowded, I suppose. Hard to remember who I'm supposed to be sometimes," she admitted, lulled by the sound of his heartbeat. That was rock steady, familiar, comforting, something she could rely on.

His hands soothed her back for a while, then he drew her back to the bed. "You always said having too many lives isn't necessarily better than having none at all."

They curled up in each others' arms, and Natasha smiled up at him. "You keep me steady. I've always been amazed by you."

James traced her cheek and lips. "And you amaze me, Natasha... You are the home I didn't realize I needed."

"Then we'll get through this," she murmured. "We have each other."

And Yelena, but her jealousy could be more harm than good.

When Natasha next woke, sprawled across the bed on her stomach, one arm thrown haphazardly across James' shoulders, it was because Yelena was stomping around the room, upset. "Lena?" she asked, rubbing at her eyes.

The look Yelena shot her was pure venom. "This room is a mess."

"You weren't here to celebrate when I got back," Natasha said smoothly.

"Celebrate," Yelena echoed, disbelief and scorn in her tone.

"Mm-hm. Sarkissian's dead, and I know who our next target should be."

"I have the next target," Yelena insisted.

Natasha sat up and stretched, suppressing a smirk when Yelena tracked the rise and fall of her breasts. "Dr. Edward Lansing is one of the researchers that the Sarkissians were funding. He was developing a super soldier serum, and supplied AIM with the mental patients he experimented on without their consent."

Yelena's expression darkened. "What?"

"He's a doctor and experimented on long term residents at the facility. Schizophrenics, bipolar patients, developmentally disabled, whoever was there and 'forgotten,'" Natasha replied, complete with air quotes. "They never knew what he was doing, and they were left with the mental capacity of a three year old, only stronger."

"That explains the guards that didn't know who I was," she muttered.

Natasha lay down on her stomach, watching Yelena's expression. "Do you want to know how she died?" she asked.

Blinking a bit, Yelena nodded and approached the bed. Natasha could feel James shift behind her, likely getting up to leave. She reached out behind her, blindly looking for him. After a moment – perhaps he hesitated staying because Yelena's jealous streak made her look murderous just then – but her finally took it and settled back beside her. Natasha rolled onto her back and stretched again, lean and sinuous. She described the blood and the begging and pleading, that secrets spilled as easily from Ekaterina's lips as her blood had.

Yelena looked down at Natasha hungrily, tuning out James sitting quietly next to Natasha and stroking her thigh. Natasha reached out with one arm and tugged on the hem of Yelena's shirt impatiently. "Well?"

She tried to undress quickly, Natasha sliding her hand over the skin as it was exposed. Yelena leaned over Natasha's sprawled form and took a breast into her mouth. Natasha let out a pleased sigh, then let her tongue glide over Yelena's breast as it bobbed near her face. A soft mewling greeted that move, so she repeated it. James continued to stroke her thigh, so Natasha parted her legs, giving him access and tacit permission to go farther.

Yelena propped herself up over Natasha with one hand, licking and sucking at the breast in front of her. Natasha returned the favor, and parted her legs even further when James shifted his weight and knelt between them. Natasha caught Yelena's other breast in one hand and reached around her to stroke her back. Yelena sighed around her breast, a pleased and delighted sound; she obviously thought she would have been forgotten in favor of James. And _oh,_ there was James licking into her again, not to be outdone by Yelena's attention.

It was a tangle of limbs, Yelena being careful not to touch James. She didn't want him that way, never had, never understood the intensity of Natasha's feelings for him. At least she never made Natasha choose between them; Natasha knew that she could never leave James, and that choice would devastate Yelena. James licked until Natasha bucked and squealed, nipping at Yelena's breast as she came. "My turn," she purred, shifting so Natasha could lick into her wet slit. James watched them, his cock already hard and weeping. Natasha rubbed his leg with hers, then hooked her foot around his hip, trying to pull him closer while her hands were occupied with helping Yelena stay balanced.

James slid into Natasha, his hands on her hips. He moved slowly so he wouldn't disrupt her, and Natasha liked the slow slide of his cock inside her. She hummed happily, then sucked at Yelena's clit hard enough to make her come with a sharp, catlike cry. Only then did James move in earnest, thrusts intense enough to move Natasha along the bed, her breasts bobbing with each movement. Yelena couldn't maintain her balance perched above Natasha and had to grasp James' shoulder with one hand when she nearly fell.

The blonde wasn't to be outdone, so she moved to stretch out beside Natasha. She nipped and licked one of Natasha's breasts, her hand sliding down the taut stomach until she reached the tangle of red curls. "Yelena," Natasha gasped even as she reached for James.

Yelena leaned in to nip at Natasha's ear as she flicked her fingers around Natasha's clit. "You're mine," she growled. _"Mine._ You belong to me, Natasha. I had you first, and I won't let _anyone_ steal you from me."

Before she could answer, another orgasm ripped through her. Natasha gasped and writhed, body clenching down hard. James hissed, unable to last out more than three additional thrusts. He withdrew and watched Yelena use his come as lube to slick up her fingers, rubbing Natasha's clit even through the orgasm, trying to coax out another one on the heels of the first.

The three of them collapsed in a tangled heap on the bed, Natasha in the middle. Yelena tucked her head into Natasha's neck, one hand on her stomach. James used his flesh arm as a pillow beneath his head, and his left arm rested lightly on her hip. Two different lovers, two different directions to be pulled into.

And that didn't even count Loki and the deal involving the Astoria apartment. That felt like a lifetime ago, another persona that kept track of such things. Natasha felt so distant from that now, though she knew he had to be hurting.

Let him, she decided. He'd killed thousands and still didn't seem to care about it. Her concept of a ledger was still an alien one for him, and he didn't really exert effort to balance the columns at all. Loki was selfish, and could only see his own pain or frustration. The outside world usually didn't register at all. He _wanted,_ and that want could make him dangerous.

But for once, Natasha didn't want to sacrifice herself to contain him. For once, she didn't want to keep close watch to be sure he didn't explode like the ticking time bomb he was. There was enough of that to do with Yelena, and keeping track of her own past lives and thoughts was work enough at the moment. For once _she wanted something for herself._ After everything she had done with and without her consent, didn't she deserve something she wanted? Wasn't it all right to _want,_ to be worthy of having at least one wish fulfilled?

A distant part of her was horrified that she had succumbed to her training with Ekaterina's death, but most of her was satisfied. That was an acceptable death, one smidge of red in her ledger that would prevent countless innocents from being slaughtered. Ekaterina hadn't cared at all about the children sacrificed, or the lost and lonely patients who sought help and essentially lobotomized against their will. The lives lost to Extremis had been acceptable as well, and only deplored Killian's very public display because it drove down AIM stock prices for months.

One death in exchange for the lives of hundreds. That was acceptable. She would do that again in a heartbeat, especially if she didn't have to deal with SHIELD bureaucracy or answer to Sitwell and his judgmental expression. Taking the legal route meant that Ekaterina had several years to collect more deaths, more innocents tortured and used and warped beyond recognition.

There was too much darkness out in the world, too many people willing to abuse others just because they could. Whatever Yelena's plans for the new Red Room, those people had to be eliminated with extreme prejudice.

***  
***


	2. Crossing Boundaries

"We have a hit, and you're not going to like it."

Clint looked up as Steve came into the room. He had been spending more time around Avengers Tower, not wanting to be around SHIELD offices. There were too many things there reminding him of Natasha, even if it was just scaring off the newbie field agents. Of course, staying in the Tower meant that he ran into Loki more often. Clint wasn't sure what his deal was, but he wasn't always an insufferable ass, at least. Loki didn't seem to be into self harm at the moment, but he did look positively unhinged sometimes. Steve and Sam still took him out into the city on their do-good errands and such, which kept Loki occupied and at least not murderous. Clint drew the line at adding him to the card games at Steve's, and Bruce and Tony usually didn't bother to show up despite the standing invitation. Tony had Pepper to spend his time with, and Bruce usually stayed by himself to meditate. It was sad, and sometimes made him wonder if it was appropriate to track down Betty Ross to invite her over. Bruce deserved to be happy just as much as the rest of them did.

"What's going on?" Clint asked, frowning.

"We've been keeping an eye on known Hydra spots, since that's where the trio would likely go," Steve said. "If they're reestablishing the Red Room, it's a logical place to start."

"And?"

"And Ekaterina Sarkissian was brutally murdered in her own home five days ago. She was tortured, Clint," Steve added gently. "Just like the mages at Ophelia's house."

"So we know where Yelena was," Clint said with a sigh.

"Nat was there," Steve told him. "There was literally writing on the wall. It's her handwriting, and there's a positive print. Full print. In Sarkissian's blood."

"She's letting us know she's alive," Clint remarked, sitting up straighter. "She's still alive, that's good. We still have a shot in tracking her down and getting her out of there."

Thinking of the last time they had all seen each other, Clint nodded. "There should be clues there in the house. She would have left something behind for us, just like she did in her hotel room."

Steve put a folder down on the table in front of him and opened it. "Here's what I got from a contact," he said. "I translated the French for you."

"Why am I surprised that you have contacts?" Clint snarked.

Laughing, Steve paged through the folder and pulled out the photographs. "It's not as good as being there, but hey. I may know someone in the French consulate, that's all. You know, a fan of the cowl and shield."

Clint snickered. "Promising your favors, Steve? I thought you had the hots for Thor's friend Sif."

The abashed expression on Steve's face made Clint laugh out loud despite the tightening in his chest at the sight of the photos. "She's a great dame," Steve said finally.

"You are so lame sometimes," Clint scoffed. "And I know Sam tells you that all the damn time."

"Maybe."

"Where is he, by the way? He's practically been living here lately."

"Had an extra meeting to go to."

"Is that where our resident psychopath went?"

Steve frowned at him. "Loki's been very good about obeying Natasha's rules. He hasn't stepped out of line with any of us."

"Natasha's not here," he admitted heavily. "And we don't maim and torture for fun, so we can't keep him in line that way."

"I don't think he was ever the type to murder for fun," Steve remarked. It sounded like a rebuke.

Clint sighed. "Okay, fine. Maybe not. But he's coming up empty trying to track Natasha."

"Sarkissian had mages cast spells on things. It's blocking what he can do."

"Maybe," Clint replied. "But for someone boasting constantly that he's better than all of us..."

"If you were in the middle of enemies—or at least people that really didn't like you, even if they weren't going to hurt you—wouldn't you claim to be better than others? Keep them off your back and stay safe?" Steve looked at Clint intently. "He's done monstrous things, and working with us isn't absolving him of that. I'm sure he thinks we'll lock him away somewhere. It's what they usually do on Asgard, after all," Steve added.

"He cares about Natasha," Steve continued, looking down at the array of photos. Ekaterina Sarkissian had been left a bloody, broken mess, too similar to the mages she had employed. "She was there, so maybe now he can pick up something that will help him track her down."

"Okay," Clint sighed, rubbing at his face. "We'll have to get Loki and explain all this. Hopefully he won't fly off the handle or act like a little shit."

"Sometimes he's almost decent."

"When it suits him."

"When it suits him," Steve agreed. "Which in this case, it will."

It did. Loki listened intently and looked at the photos avidly. "Yelena erased parts of her existence," he began as he shuffled through the pages of the file. "I've been trying to track Natasha's _spá,_ since it was not erased." He pursed his lips unhappily. "But it is still blocked by whatever spells Yelena had arranged for. This may help, but I would not promise with any certainty."

"Do whatever you have to do," Clint told him. "We need to find her. Yelena's unhinged, that soldier is a soulless monster—sorry, Steve, but you can't think it's your friend anymore—and every moment Natasha's over there is a moment too long." He tapped the photo of Sarkissian's body. "If she's with them too long, I don't want them doing this to her."

Steve sighed. "Sam said the same thing when I told him about meeting Bucky. He said it's not Bucky anymore, that maybe he's not the kind you save."

"Maybe he isn't."

"But that's what they said of Natasha," Loki said abruptly, standing up. "They told you she couldn't be saved, that she had to be stopped at any cost."

"She wasn't that far gone," Clint replied, nodding. Loki had seen that much in his head.

"We won't know anything for certain until we see them," Steve said. "Not when they feel threatened, but if they feel equal."

"I know you're all for truth and justice and whatnot," Clint began, shaking his head at Steve, "but I don't think they will ever see us anything other than a threat."

"They can't keep Natasha," Loki said, a dangerous and hard edge to his voice. The other two men startled at the sound of it and simply stared at him. Clint hadn't heard that tone in a long time, not since his possession, actually. _They will fall. They have no other choice. I cannot give them any other choice._

"The trick will be finding Natasha without them knowing you did," Steve reminded him.

Loki's grin was full of teeth, a manic shark's grin. Clint felt very sorry for Yelena right then, because he could see Loki ripping out her throat with those teeth.

"With the power of Yggdrasil behind me, they'll never see me coming," Loki promised.

Clint absolutely believed him in that moment.

***

Dr. Edward Lansing worked out of San Marino State Hospital as one of the staff physicians. He was of average height, with black hair and black eyes that blinked owlishly from behind glasses. Skilled in medicine and biochemistry, Dr. Lansing used the locked psychiatric unit as his hunting ground without the knowledge of the attending psychiatrist. At AIM's behest, he had spent the past ten years working to recreate a super soldier serum formula that had died with Dr. Erskine. He crafted his own compounds and performed surgeries as he felt was necessary, especially if the chosen victim had no guardian to lodge formal protest. Many of the losses suffered initially during his experiments had been chalked up to complications from medical treatments and the patients' poor health status.

It was only in the past few years that Dr. Lansing's formula seemed to bear fruit. His version did make people stronger, but left them childlike. This made them easier to control, and he kept the instructions simple as well. They may have had limited efficacy, but what they could understand they did well. "You can't win it all," he had once told Ekaterina Sarkissian during a meeting discussing his research. "But don't discount the power they can have."

He was not the type to leave much to chance. It would be noticeable if half of his selected population died and the other half operated with the intellectual capacity of a three year old rather than a six or seven year old. Dr. Lansing developed a neural disruptor to try to control "ordinary" minds that he hadn't altered with his serum. It kept the hospital staff blissfully ignorant and able to abet his crimes.

Natasha had a fair number of the toys SHIELD had developed for her use, as well as whatever Yelena had stolen from Ophelia's labs. She had utterly decimated Hydra's power structure, all but destroying the organization. The peons left wouldn't be able to recreate the entire administration, and would be left more or less to their own devices. That would ultimately lead to their capture by various policing agencies, but Yelena didn't care about that. She had not only slaughtered the mages AIM had hired, but a fair bit of their top level agents as well. Yelena hadn't been sure if there were devices to counter Lansing's neural disruptor, which meant that they might be vulnerable to its effects.

"We've had our heads messed with too much," Natasha said, rubbing her face tiredly. "I don't want to lose it all over again."

"So the three of us have to attack at once, and not at the hospital," Yelena replied. "That's where he most likely keeps it. There's recon to do, of course—"

"—we'll need to know if he has a disruptor at home, too," James said, drumming his fingers on the small table where he was sitting. "That's going to be the easier location to infiltrate. The hospital likely has too many checkpoints and lockdown levels, since it's got a psychiatric ward, and those are usually locked."

"It'll be easy enough to bypass any security system he might have," Natasha said.

"This should be a team effort and not a solo op," James told them. "Going alone in this case could be a disaster. Even if he didn't work with AIM and would be competition, he must be eliminated immediately. All three of us would be too vulnerable to that disruptor."

"And we can't have any vulnerability," Yelena said, voice hard. "We're the best, the survivors of the Red Room. And Department X," she added, looking at James. "Staying at the top means eliminating as much of the competition as possible."

The day Natasha had killed Ekaterina Sarkissian, Yelena had been looking into the next potential target for the Red Room. Her goal was making herself visible, the better to ensure that the glory of the Red Room would be known, and she could command a fair price when negotiating a brand new contract. Eliminating Dr. Lansing was a necessity, but it was a death they all could take a measure of pride in. He went about stealing lives and choices, _and now that could end._ A justifiable death if there ever was one.

"We'll take the disruptor," Natasha declared abruptly. "Not destroy it. We'll destroy any plans to make it, any research he did on it, and no one else can build one." Understanding began to dawn in their eyes. "But if _we_ have it, and _we_ control others..."

"It will help us get the other big names off the map."

Natasha told herself that SHIELD could never eliminate these groups legally. They hid in legal loopholes and countries with no extradition treaties. AIM and Hydra were trying to fill their power vacuums at the moment and easy to pick off. If they could do the same to the Ten Rings, Hand, Project Centipede, Black Spectre, the Brotherhood, the Vory or Yakuza... Some good could come from this. A little death and mayhem, and the world would be a little bit safer. She was no angel anyway, Ivan had seen to that. But he had considered himself a patriot, had honestly thought the Academy was a safe place for her. He had believed himself her father, thought that the glory of Mother Russia was important. It wasn't his fault everything fell apart, that life had only gotten harder over time.

Loss, deprivation and scarcity had left their indelible marks on her consciousness. Even if she appreciated fine things, she knew they weren't permanent. Things were fleeting. Sometimes people were, too. Nothing lasted forever; only children thought they could freeze moments in time and hoard them like jewels.

All she knew was sacrifice. What was a little bit more?

***

The space between the branches of Yggdrasil was quiet and still. The edges of magic glittered and shimmered for those who could see it, a shift in the fabric of reality. Loose tendrils of magic spun out from the main branches like twisting vines, and it was tucked away on those vines that Loki had crafted different hideaways. In a stronger juncture between branches, anchored with dragon bones and lost runes, were the nine rings of power Amora had crafted that SHIELD did not have in their possession. Or, Bruce didn't, but he was nominally working with Tony at SHIELD's behest.

Loki found himself drawn to the cage of bones, the nine rings floating within its sphere. He could feel the immense power there, knew how seductive and dangerous it could be. Desire pulled at him, begging him to make a fatal mistake and tuck himself inside the cage. _We will be all for you,_ they promised. But that was a lie. No one and nothing could be all, not even Natasha, and she came the closest of any living being without even trying.

It was for Natasha that he collected these rings, and for her that he was back, even thinking about courting madness once more. Or perhaps he was already mad, and this would merely tip the balance further into that column.

Even without touching the bones, Loki tried to draw the power of the rings into himself. It wasn't the same as deconstructing the Essine Ruby. That had been delicious and wondrous, reshaping his innermost self as well as fueling the complicated magicks that had made him female and provided the basis for the protection spells on the bracelets he had made.

He had the shape of Natasha's fingerprint from the crime scene, strands of her hair and one of her camisoles from her hamper. Clint and Steve would no doubt call him a creeper for such a move, but a used camisole carried sweat and skin cells, further personal ties to anchor a locator spell strong enough to combat Yelena's blockade.

Floating in the ether, Loki sat cross legged in front of the dragon bone cage with Natasha's belongings. A thought, and they floated in the space between him and the cage.

Time to work his _seidr_ and trace her _spá._

He found Natasha's life thread as it intersected Ekaterina Sarkissian's. His consciousness traveled to the south of France, and he watched her scale the fence, climb to the roof of the building in the blind spot of the security system, and then creep across the building's façade. The blind spot was only two and a half feet wide, the sill three inches wide. Both were difficult to scale, but Natasha moved quickly, as if it was no trouble at all. Then again, with her training, it truly was no trouble for her to complete. Cutting open a pane of glass with a diamond-bladed tool, Natasha reached inside and opened the window. It didn't trigger the alarm, which would only activate if the sash was forced from the outside. She slithered inside, the faint light letting Loki see the series of knives and guns strapped to her body, the garrote and Widow's bites visible on her wristlets. She didn't have her nanomesh armor or other SHIELD issue belongings, which had been left behind when Yelena had taken her.

Speaking of which, Loki didn't see Yelena at all.

For someone aware of Natasha's capacity for cruelty, Clint was willfully blind. This had been Natasha's kill from start to finish, her revenge for Andorra, her way to extract the information she had wanted during that job.

Loki tried to trace Natasha's thread further, but the blockage stood in his way. He pushed harder, drawing on the power of the rings. _You will let me pass, damn it all. You will let me see her,_ he demanded of the _spá._

But fate never liked being commanded, and his efforts were shunted aside. Instead of moving forward, Loki's consciousness was thrown sideways and backward. Or maybe it was a separate strand of fate, a reality that never was and never could be.

Because Natasha was grinning at him, her arms looped around his neck as he carried her. They were in a large, airy room that reminded him more of his old quarters in Asgard. But this was definitely a Midgard home, the windows large and with sunlight streaming through. He could see trees and a garden beyond the glass, a winding staircase looping up to a second story from the vestibule. Wait, where were they standing?

"Don't tell me you're thinking of work," Natasha chided him playfully. "Not when we finally got a whole week off to ourselves."

He caught the glint of a ring, and suddenly realized that he wore a platinum band on his left hand, runic designs etched into the metal. She wore a matching one, studded with moonstones in artfully but magically significant locations on the ring. _They were married,_ he realized suddenly, and worked together for SHIELD.

"No," he told her truthfully, a slow smile spreading across his lips. "I'm not thinking of work at all." He dipped his head down to taste her lips. "Just of you."

"Flatterer," she purred.

Their bedroom was as large as the room below, yet felt cozy. A king sized bed with forest green chenille spread, satin sheets, gauzy white fabric woven into the slats of the headboard. The furniture was of cherry wood, the carpets had a deep pile and the windows opened to a view of the garden. In the corner was a rocking chair and empty crib; somehow, he knew that the child was with a babysitter fully vetted and backed by SHIELD, in the off chance someone would think to harm the Black Widow and Trickster through their child.

They were lying on the bed next, Loki somehow losing time in the transition. Natasha was beneath him, her fingers threaded through his hair. It was wavy and long, and he liked the feel of her combing his tresses languidly as they kissed. He was propped up on one arm, his other skimming down her torso over her dress, until he reached her hip. It was a white dress, simple silken fabric, nothing fancy or special. She hadn't even worn weapons beneath the sleeves or strapped to her thighs, trusting him to take care of her safety while they were out at dinner together. Their anniversary dinner, two years married, five together as lovers.

Something pulsed and throbbed painfully in his chest. Could this be the future he could have made? Though his opportunity to pull apart and reshape reality was gone now, and he probably would have made errors invalidating this reality. The _spá_ was so difficult to shape, after all. Tracing its path was hard enough, but reweaving reality to his liking? He never had the patience to take on that task.

Natasha's legs fell open, the skirt of the dress falling aside. She wore nothing more than a scrap of lacy fabric over her sex, waxed bare as a way to tease him. He liked the feel of her smooth skin as he traced her folds, but he also liked her coarse curls. Loki liked all of her, the swell of her breasts and curve of her hip, the way her belly hollowed when she lay on her back, the way her back swayed when she knelt on all fours in front of him. Natasha was beautiful and deadly, a scourge the mafia was afraid of.

She groaned and moaned so prettily for him, urging him on to do more than just fuck her with his fingers, but he teased her by swiping his thumb across her clit instead of merely sinking his cock into her. And then there was a touch of magic, giving her the sensation of his mouth on each breast as he kissed her, tongue stroking hers. She mewled against his mouth, panting and nearly yanking on his hair. Her other hand was at his back, scratching through his shirt. "Yes," she crooned when she shifted her head to draw in a breath. "Right there, God, you feel so good, just keep on going like that..."

Of course he would obey that kind of demand. Of course he would want her to cry out, come and tighten around his fingers. Then as the aftershocks hit her, he opened the front of his pants and pushed the fabric aside, sinking his cock into her. There was only a single layer, at least, as he didn't like the feel of mortal undergarments. The inconvenient part of this habit was the obvious wetness when his cock wept for want of her sex. But she was wet for him, slick and warm, like a fist around his cock. Loki moved his hand to her thigh, lifting her leg. She locked both of them around his waist, throwing her head back against the pillow, exposing the long column of her throat. He mouthed it, whispering endearments in Allspeak as she moaned in Russian. His thrusts were deep and long, slow at first, drawing out the inevitable conclusion. But this couldn't last forever, and he was speeding up almost against his will.

They lay tangled together afterward, and she rolled over on top of him. His seed dripped down her thighs, smearing across her dress and his pants. Natasha had a devilish twinkle in her eyes as she grinned down at him, her hands on his shoulders. "Use that magic to get hard again," she purred, sliding her slit along his soft cock. "C'mon, c'mon, I'm not done with you yet."

"You're insatiable," he teased, answering her grin.

"C'mon, fuck me hard, make me scream." Leaning back, she lifted the dress and took it off, tossing it aside. "Make me pass out from how good it is."

"Your wish is my command."

The spell was a simple one he'd used with her before, the minx. He was thick and hard again in no time, and she laughed delightedly as she wrested his clothes from him. All right, he helped, he was certainly no saint able to resist her. Natasha hummed contentedly as she sank down over him, taking him inside until he bottomed out, the head of his cock hitting the cervix. She rode him hard, clutching his thighs behind her, her breasts bouncing with each downward slide. Her eyes shut and she threw her head back when she came, Loki's fingers on her clit to help her along. He slid his other hand up from her waist to her breasts, kneading and stroking the slope of it as she slowed. "If I'm to make you pass out," he began, tapping her thigh, "then I suggest another position for it."

Natasha eagerly got on her hands and knees at the edge of the bed, allowing him to stand and guide his cock into her. Loki slammed into her, making her cry out with each thrust. She pulled at the sheet and pressed her face into the bed to muffle her cries. Grasping her hair and tugging, Loki panted "Let me hear you, love."

She lifted her head then, nearly howling in pleasure as he fucked her hard and deep, fingers digging into her hips to keep her balanced. Pressure built up at the base of his cock, twitching and only too ready to spill into her again. When she clenched down tight on him, that was too much. He came, spurting his seed, hands painfully tight on her hips now. She would bruise by morning, though Natasha didn't mind. She often traced them with a fingertip and told him how they made her remember how she got them in the first place. Loki was usually the one most uncomfortable with such displays, having been raised to treat a lady with respect. That worked most of the time, but times like this in the bedroom, a little rougher edge made the pleasure that much more delicious.

Lying sprawled across the bed, Natasha laughed breathlessly and pulled Loki down to the bed with her. "I love you," she told him, her expression one of shining affection.

Though it was everything his heart desired, Loki knew this wasn't real.

His consciousness was yanked out of this reality as the other Loki returned the endearment. He was a fool, such a fool. There would be no children. He was incapable of becoming a father in this lifetime. Natasha would never say she loved him, even if she actually did.

Loki wanted to scream and sob at the horror of it all. His magic skittered along the edges of the _spá,_ unable to push forward. He couldn't bend her future to his will, could never insure that what he wanted would come to pass.

And then he was screaming, with only the emptiness of the Void to hear him. He was alone, alone, always alone, and he knew he deserved this. He didn't deserve Natasha's love, if she could even bear to house such an emotion. She was with two seasoned killers without any compunction whatsoever, and most likely over time she would resemble them.

 _Come back to me, Natasha,_ he thought, tears sliding down his cheeks. He couldn't bear to look into the emptiness of the Void. _By whatever you feel is holy, please come back to me. I am nothing without you, I see that now. I am an empty mirror while you're gone..._

There. The faintest glimmer of something, and he hoped it was a thread of her _spá._ As he grew closer, he could see that it was, a bit frayed in places and rewoven in complex patterns he didn't recognize. But there was her underlying pattern, and he seized hold of it as tightly as he could, trying to get as close to the present day as possible.

_Blink._

***

San Marino State Hospital was a tall and ugly building, the type Natasha and Steve would poke fun at. Most state hospitals seemed to be overbearing, gloomy, and industrial in appearance. It did have very good security and locked wards, which would have made getting in and out a lot more difficult than Natasha wanted. Dr. Edward Lansing's home, however, was not built like a fortress and certainly not defended like one. It was a small three bedroom home in a suburb, with a two car garage and small yard. He wasn't particularly close to his neighbors, and had a privacy fence along the edge of his property in the back. He had no pets and was single, with no girlfriend or children. There was a fairly standard alarm system on his home, one that Natasha could disarm in her sleep.

Yelena decided to do the recon on her own. She broke in while he was at the hospital and did a careful and thorough search of the house. She couldn't find the disruptor, and there were no files regarding its creation on his home computer.

Which meant there was only one, and it was at the hospital.

"If we kill him at his home, the experiments are done," Natasha mused, arms crossed over her chest. "Then there's breaking into the hospital. We can go in, ostensibly to release his subjects, but really, we're looking for the disruptor in his office. In the chaos, no one will know what the real target of our break in was."

"You're sure it has to be a break in?" Yelena asked, head tilted to the side.

"The other way to ensure the disruptor is even there would be to do a long term infiltration. But I'm sure none of us want to play the role of a mental patient and get experimented on," Natasha replied dryly. "Enough has been done to us already. Once we stop him, we can move on to the next target, too."

James looked at Natasha, his facial features revealing nothing, but his eyes assessing. "You're really with us on that." He paused. "I would have thought you'd be against killing."

Natasha gave him a level look, and saw that Yelena's expression was blank out of the corner of her eye. Still, Yelena would be hanging on her every word. "This man is far from innocent. Just because I've worked with SHIELD doesn't mean I didn't kill. It just had to serve a purpose."

"And the purpose here?"

"Stop him from developing that serum or destroying other minds."

"How virtuous," James remarked mildly.

"His serum doesn't work right. How long until someone finds his research and figures out where he went wrong?" Natasha asked archly.

"I'll take the hospital," James replied abruptly. "You go through the house after you kill him, in case he'd hidden it somewhere that Yelena could not see."

He was giving her the least visible locations. Was he trying to protect her reputation at SHIELD?

"I'll take care of him," she said with a nod.

Yelena looked between them. "And what about me?"

James looked at her. "I thought you would come with me. Watch my back in the hospital."

That mollified her. "Well, then. Yes."

Natasha knew it would mean a high death toll at the hospital. Innocents might die, though the innocents here were patients experimented on against their will. It wasn't the same kind of innocent she usually tried to save. They didn't have minds anymore, not really. And those affected by the disruptor would fight them, probably die for the effort. It would be strange to spare them, to try to undo the damage that was done; Lansing meant for it to be permanent, meant to be able to sell his perfected soldiers to the highest bidder. There was no saving them, no humanitarian action but to let them die while still vaguely human.

So she said nothing about the hospital and let Yelena pull her down to the bed, kissing her and pulling off her clothes. Natasha reached out for James, not wanting him to leave. Yelena had her tongue in Natasha's mouth, hands sliding across her skin as it was bared. Natasha helped and took off Yelena's clothes. The blonde was startled to see James staying nearby, and narrowed her eyes at him. "Hold her down," she ordered him.

James caught Natasha by the wrists and pinned them down to the bed above her head. "Promise me, Yelena," Natasha said, not even looking at James. "You won't go overboard. At the hospital, don't kill unless you have to. Don't make a mess."

"Can't destroy your innocents?" Yelena sneered, straddling Natasha's waist.

"You have to come back," Natasha insisted, eyes locked to the blonde's. "Promise me, Yelena. If too many die, they'll spare nothing to catch you, and you have to come back to me. Do what you need to do, just make sure you get out of that hospital and you come back."

Yelena's expression softened. Instead of looking haughty and angry, sure that Natasha was going to challenge her for supremacy, she smiled. "You do love me, don't you?" she asked, her smile almost pained at the edges. Natasha remembered her at age twelve or thirteen in the Red Room asking her the same thing. They had been beaten and locked in a steel room, no rations or water, and had to stay in the box for thirty-six hours. It would have been Yelena alone in solitary, but Natasha had taken the blame for the failed mission. Their superiors couldn't tell who was telling the truth, so they shared the same punishment.

Natasha smiled at her, soft and sweet as she had all those years ago. "Of course I do."

Relief and love shone through Yelena's expression. Memories must have slipped and slid inside her mind, too. She bent down to kiss Natasha, a hand cupping her cheek and the other helping her balance above Natasha. "I love you," she murmured. "I always will."

Sliding her tongue into Yelena's mouth, Natasha hooked a leg up to slide it along hers. "Then show me, Lena," she purred. "You have me where you want me."

Yelena laughed, a delighted and bright sound. She kissed Natasha, desire and joy evident in her touch. This was the girl Natasha remembered, the one she wanted to save from the Red Room all those years ago. This was who she had been once upon a time herself.

But the Red Room came, with guns and knives and teeth, turning girls into wolves and blades and wind up ballerina dolls and blank slates. Little girls alone couldn't fight it for long, couldn't stand up to the collective might of the Red Room.

Settling between Natasha's legs, Yelena kissed Natasha, mouth open and tongue running across her lips. She moved the hand down Natasha's throat to cup a breast, palm abrading the nipple slightly. Natasha's arms were held down, but she could wrap her legs around Yelena's waist, letting their bodies rub against each other. Yelena's breath quickened, and she moved faster, with sharper jerking movements as she mouthed kisses across Natasha's cheeks, jaw and neck. "Get out of your clothes," Natasha gasped.

She didn't need to be told twice, and licked a stripe up Natasha's belly before claiming her mouth again. Now it was skin on skin, James watching them move against each other. When Yelena moved down to suckle a breast, Natasha arched and cried out. She threw her head back, catching his eye. He was watching _her,_ the pivot in this relationship, waiting to see what she would do. Beneath Yelena and the press of his hands, all she could do was feel. Yelena slid her fingers into her slick passage, working her body into a frenzy. _Kiss me,_ she mouthed to James, so he shifted to kiss her and still keep her arms pinned to the bed. 

When Yelena noticed that, she didn't even snarl or get jealous. She laughed and smiled coyly at James. "Let me get her ready for you, hm?" she purred.

Natasha moaned as Yelena scissored her two fingers inside of her and sucked on her clit. "Oh, Lena," she whimpered. The blonde had always known just where to touch and press to get her worked up, same as James. They completed her in different ways, and it always worked best when she didn't have to choose between them.

No, wait. She didn't have both of them in her bed at the same time before. That wasn't a real memory, it was one she had dreamed of, wasn't it? James behind her and his hands on her stomach and breasts, kissing her neck as she reached behind her to stroke him. Yelena in front of her, fingers between her thighs and mouth hot over hers. That happened, hadn't it?

What was happening to her memory?

She bucked beneath Yelena's mouth, straining against James' hands. Yes, yes, hold her in, hold her down, contain her, give her room to fly apart and lose control. She could have this, just this once, she wouldn't have to choose, wouldn't have to sacrifice, wouldn't have to tear herself apart to make everyone else happy. There were so rarely opportunities for this, when she didn't have to plot or plan or countermove.

Coming with a strangled groan, Natasha sagged down into the bed. Yelena still licked into her, still had her fingers working furiously to have her fly apart and dissolve into a puddle. James held her down with his metal hand and worked at his trousers with his flesh one, until his erect cock was free and brushing against her lips. _Yes,_ she thought, opening her mouth to take him in, drown in the musky scent of his arousal. It turned out to be just a tease, because she couldn't suck in a breath with his cock in her mouth, not when she was trying to writhe. Yelena had her too close, too close, then spilling over the edges of her body.

"Lena," Natasha murmured when she was coming to, Yelena moving away from her and James shucking his pants to fuck her. Hands free, she propped herself up on one elbow and crooked a finger to beckon Yelena closer. "C'mere, gimme your pussy."

Yelena laughed again, delighted and terribly young in that moment. She kissed Natasha as James thrust into her, kneeling between her spread legs. Natasha licked into her mouth, holding her head in place, fingers tangled in her hair. She could taste herself on Yelena's tongue, could feel her tremors. Her other hand moved to pinch Yelena's nipple, making her squeal a little into Natasha's mouth. Letting go of her, Natasha helped move her into position over her mouth. It was easy to remember what Yelena liked, her body falling forward past Natasha's head, bracing herself on the bed with both hands. Natasha kept hold of her hips, thumbs spreading her wide and making it easier to taste her. James' cock twitched inside her at the sight, and he thrust even harder into her, making her breasts bounce.

Natasha could tell when Yelena was about to come by the way her thighs quivered against her cheeks. She thrust her tongue into Yelena, curling it a little, making Yelena mewl and moan deliciously. A little more, harder and just in the right spot had her crying out and shuddering as she came.

Now that there was nothing to distract her from the fullness inside her, and Natasha let her hands fall from Yelena's body. She moved off of her face, curling up around her as she writhed and gasped. Yelena held her close, cradling her as she closed her eyes and simply felt James fucking her hard, just as she liked it, then coming with a strangled groan. Yelena didn't even care about James falling heavily over them, bracing himself on his metal arm, or coming to lay down on top of Natasha. An arm around them both, Natasha kissed Yelena's cheek and then James'.

This was what she had to remember. This was the point of it all. This was what she had been fighting for all those years ago. People like Lansing and Sarkissian had to die before they destroyed more lives, left them in broken, jagged pieces. They couldn't walk away from the harm they did, and they couldn't pretend it never happened.

"Of course I'll come back to you," Yelena whispered into Natasha's ear in Russian. "You're home. We need each other."

James' breath was steady against her neck. "It will all be over soon," he promised.

And it would, in more ways than one.

***

Loki found Natasha alone in a rundown motel room. She looked tired, drawn thin in some places, but entirely hale and whole. Something like resentment flared in his chest. He had been worried sick, pining for her. A god pining for a mortal! She had reduced him to such a state without even trying, without it being her goal. Somehow, he had let her. Somehow, he had wanted her to do such a thing.

And it didn't even seem like it mattered to her.

Natasha looked up from scrubbing her hands in the sink. She was in her underwear, black clothing discarded at her feet. "You can't be here," she said. Loki could hear nothing in the cadence of her voice, as if he had no history with her.

She didn't move when he went to stand behind her, when he touched her shoulder. Their eyes met in the mirror, and hers looked empty. Loki looked down at her hands in the sink, and there was still some blood under her nails that she hadn't completely gotten rid of. "That's not your blood," he commented.

"Of course not."

She looked at him like a stranger, and after the vision on Yggdrasil, it was too much to take.

"Do you remember what you told me?" Loki asked, nearly shaking from the force of his emotions. "You told me the truth, did you not? You have always been honest with me before, even when I worked to undermine you. For all you hold dear, _tell me the truth now,"_ Loki cried, as close to begging as he could come.

 _I'll kill them if they get too close,_ Yelena had whispered into her ear, a hand fisted in her hair and the other buried between her legs, slicked and thrusting inside her at a steady pace. _You belong to me, Natasha. You're_ mine. _I'd even kill Winter if I thought we could spare him, but we need him._ Yelena's fingers scissored inside of her, making her cry out and pull on the ropes holding her tight. Natasha was pinned, helpless beneath the onslaught of words and pleasure. _Don't think I won't destroy them all to keep you._

 _You promised,_ Natasha had gasped, writhing beneath her, inner muscles clamping down tight on her fingers.

Yelena had laughed and pumped her fingers harder, until Natasha came. _And you promised me. I remember, Natalia. I remember everything we promised each other. Yet you went to Winter. It wasn't for a job. You_ wanted _him. You wanted him inside you. You had him fuck you._ Her hand still moved, and Natasha whined and writhed. _But him you can keep, I have no choice about that. The others... They aren't useful to me. You think so, Winter thinks so. But they're useless. So know this, Natalia. I will kill them all, make you watch me do it, and you will know it's because you betrayed me._

 _I didn't betray you,_ Natasha sobbed, twisting and gasping. _Please, Yelena, please,_ she begged, unable to grasp her or shake her. The knots were too tight to slip through. _I thought I'd lost you. I'd lost everything that mattered. They helped me. They got me through, they watched my back._ Yelena pushed harder, making her groan in desperation. _Please, Yelena._ Please. _Believe me, I didn't betray you. I would never betray you. It's always been you and me together in the Red Room._ Natasha writhed, head thrown back as she started building toward another orgasm. _It's going to be like it was. You and me. The Winter Soldier. We don't need anyone else, you don't need to waste your time on them. There's better things to do with your time._

Yelena didn't believe her, kept working her through the orgasm. Then she took her slicked fingers and pushed them against Natasha's ass, her thumb on Natasha's clit. _And why should I believe you? You'd say anything right now._

 _No. The training. You know I can still think and plan. You know I'm not so far gone._ She arched her back and cried out, pulling on the ropes again. _Yelena, Yelena..._

Another orgasm, and Yelena relented. She got up from the bed to wash her hand, then return to untie Natasha. Her wrists were raw, and Yelena tenderly licked the wounds. _They'll heal in a few minutes,_ she told Natasha with a smile. _Cherish them while you have them. This is our truth, our promise to each other._

Natasha remembered everything. And nothing.

"The truth isn't all things to all people at all times," Natasha said quietly, "and neither am I."

"Meaning?" Loki demanded.

"Meaning, I won't be back."

He reached out for her, but she took a step back. "You can't mean it. Your friends, you called them family." Loki managed to keep the desperation from his voice. "And you said you would contain me. You would be there."

Though she remained silent, Loki couldn't help but feel her guilt. That wasn't in the literal sense; she had not asked for the bond to be reinstated, and he wasn't going to look weak by begging for it. He refused to think it meant she hated him, and was glad to be rid of it. She wouldn't have saved him from Amora or brought her to Asgard to visit Frigga if that was the case. She wouldn't have said that sometimes he was a friend. _Sometimes._

He deserved this, did he not? What other punishment would trouble him this way?

"You need to forget about me," Natasha said finally. "And tell the others to."

"Tell them yourself, if you can," Loki snapped. He still had his pride, and he was no one's errand boy. Her expression flickered for the briefest of moments, something like longing in her eyes. "I could remove them," Loki suggested, watching her closely. "Not kill them, I know how much you abhor that. Or I could remove you from their memories. The woman and that man will never know you ever existed. It won't pain them if I take you away."

He caught the flare of pain and panic in her eyes before it was suppressed. "No."

"Why not? If you care about all of us, is that not the best solution? No one dies." She had to be proud of him for that solution, rather that his simply killing them outright.

"Our memories have all been tampered with too much. _Do not_ alter them."

He knew her sense of self had been hard won, that she hadn't always been the Natasha that he knew and loved. It had never occurred to him that others would have received the same treatment that she had. "Natasha..."

"I mean it, Loki. Don't touch them," she insisted when he remained silent.

"The others don't believe you have participated in murder. They think it is Belova."

"And what do you think?"

Her face was smoothed into an utterly blank mask. Loki found this more frightening than her prior flash of panic. She could be cruel, and Clint had said as much. They all knew how she had killed Amora, yet were willing to think it an anomaly.

Loki knew better.

"You did it," he said quietly. For a moment, her stillness actually brought to mind Therese from the group therapy sessions, though Natasha looked utterly blank instead of angry. "And what's more, I think you liked it. I think you enjoyed destroying those despicable excuses of humans. I think you felt as if you were destroying the ones that hurt you as a child."

Natasha's lips twitched. "Someone's been studying psychology."

Ignoring the barb, Loki grasped her hand. "Come home. Not for me," he said hastily, knowing she would not return for his sake. That pained him, but he pushed on. "The others miss you. They need your tempering influence."

"I _am_ home. And Yelena and James need me, maybe more than anyone else does."

"They need more help than you can provide, isn't that so?"

"I can handle them."

"Natasha," he whispered insistently. "Let me help you. I can keep you safe. They're hurting you, breaking you apart." He reached out and grasped her hand, his heart quailing at her lack of response. "You cherish your mind, Natasha, and I know it's not the same."

Her expression hardened as he spoke, and Loki actually felt a twinge of fear. It wasn't that he thought she would physically harm him. He was too strong for that, and his magic could heal any major damage she chose to inflict on him. No, it was how cold she was, even for someone who never professed to love him in return. She knew him, all his weaknesses and strengths, and she looked like someone that would use it against him just because she could.

"You don't know me, Loki. You don't know what's happened, and you never will."

"Natasha..."

"Go back to New York. We're done here." She shot him such a withering look that he recoiled from her. "I have no reason to go back to New York, none at all. I'll let the lease on the Astoria apartment lapse. I won't need it anymore."

Stunned, Loki could only watch as she walked away. He made no move to go after her, even though he easily could have caught hold of her and kept her in one of his hideaways on Yggdrasil. Norns knew he dreamt of it often enough lately. But what then? How could he keep her there indefinitely if she hated him? If those two warped her mind and turned her into one of them? If they had no bond any longer?

He told himself it didn't matter. _She_ didn't matter. It was a long game, that was all. A way to take apart the Essine Ruby. To gain the trust of these mortals and twist them to his will. He never wanted her, never.

_Liar._

He knew this feeling for what it was: his heart breaking all over again.

The End.


End file.
